


Hold On To That Paper

by broadwanime



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff, M/M, Paperman, all of the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadwanime/pseuds/broadwanime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam shifts uneasily at the platform, struggling to hold onto his stack of papers. He works in tech support, for pete’s sake, yet he has to bring this gratuitous stack of useless paper with him every day. He only hopes he doesn’t drop it all over the train tracks. Yeah, that would make his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On To That Paper

**Author's Note:**

> I do not even know why I wrote a Sastiel Paperman AU. I really, really don't. It just sprung into existence and I couldn't stop writing until it was done. Title from "Paper" by the Talking Heads.

It’s not that Sam is an unhappy person - it’s just that he really, really,  _really_  hates his job. There is literally nothing worse than wearing that godawful yellow shirt every day, faking a smile to that douchebag, Zachariah, sitting in that desperately uncomfortable chair. He literally flinches every time he has to say, “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Every. Single. Time.

Still, it’s what he has, you know? He couldn’t go into the family business. No joining the military or getting covered in engine oil stains for him. Dean doesn’t get it, but Dean rarely understands anything out of his brother’s mouth that isn’t about pie. As for Dad, well… Sam hasn’t spoken to him in years. He’s okay with it, really, he’s fine.

It’s just that he really hates his job.

Sam shifts uneasily at the platform, struggling to hold onto his stack of papers. He works in tech support, for pete’s sake, yet he has to bring this gratuitous stack of useless paper with him every day. He only hopes he doesn’t drop it all over the train tracks. Yeah, that would make his day.

As it turns out, the universe hates him almost as much as he hates his job. The wind picks that moment to pick up one of his papers, sending it flying. Sam tries to catch it, but can’t quite manage to before it smacks straight in the face of the poor guy standing next to him.

He peels the paper off the guy’s face, babbling out apologies all the way. “Shit, I am so sorry! The wind just picked up, and I just - “

Holy shit. Wow. Ho. Ly. Shit. The guy is hot.

Damnit.

He’s got this perfectly mussed hair and perfectly groomed stubble and those eyes - jesus christ. It’s not like he’s never seen blue eyes before, but these are just put every cheesy metaphor to shame. Soul-piercing, mysterious, glowing, vast as the ocean, you name it.

The Adonis tilts his head to the side, and Sam abruptly realizes he’s been staring. The guy must think he’s a total idiot. Sam ducks his head and tries to tell his heart to calm the fuck down, breathing in deeply through his nose. He opens his mouth to apologize yet again (and maybe use up his courage for his entire lifetime and ask the man on an incredibly awkward date), but when he lifts his head, the guy’s gone. Sam didn’t even catch his name.

Yeah, forget his job. Sam hates the universe.

When he finally gets to work, he’s barely half a minute late. Half a minute too much for Zachariah, senior partner and asshole extraordinaire. He immediately loads Sam up with yet  _another_  stack of papers to fill out, grinning widely all the way. Sam imagines ripping the geezer’s throat out with his teeth, or maybe stabbing him in the brain with a stapler.

Scratch that, maybe he should stab himself in the brain with a stapler. He’s going to be signing these stupid forms for the rest of the day. Sam heaves a sigh and glances out the window. He’s never been more grateful to have a cubicle right next to the only window in the office, giving him a glimpse of the outside world. Anything has got to be more interesting than -

Holy shit.

Blue Eyes is in the building across the street. Repeat, the angel from the train station is just across the street.

_Holy shit._

Sam stares unabashedly, blinking a couple times to see if it’s a stress induced hallucination. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t hallucinate a heavy, tan overcoat and a backwards tie, but he’s been working with Zachariah for six months now. He’s not ruling out any type of insanity.

Nope, the guy’s there. That’s definitely the angel. That’s definitely… like hanging a carrot on a stick. And Sam is never gonna catch the carrot ever. There’s no way he can get Blue Eyes’ attention. Unless -

Sam’s eyes dart down to his enormous stack of papers. It’s a stupid idea, a crazy, idiotic, possibly inspired by his brother kind of idea - but it’s the only one he’s got. He pulls a single sheet of the pile and folds it carefully, just like Dean taught him to when they were kids. Slowly, he opens the window and prays he’s not getting the attention of anyone else. Inhale, exhale, throw - 

Damnit.

Well, it’s not like anyone will notice if two papers are missing, right?

Only two turns to five. And five turns to fifteen. And somehow, Sam finds that he’s gone through every single piece of paper on his desk - save one. It’s a little wrinkled from this morning, folded slightly inwards when it caught on the stranger’s nose. Sam wants to keep it, you know?

(Because he’s a sap and a girl, and  _Dean shut your pie hole or there’ll be no pie for it_ )

Still, no matter his feelings - he has this feeling that he has to try.

Fold left, crease right, inhale, exhale, throw - 

DAMNIT.

It’s official. Make a billboard, tell your children, whatever: the universe hates Sam Winchester. He’s all out of forms, Zachariah’s going to kick his ass, and Blue Eyes just left.

Fuck this shit.

Sam yanks off his headset and slams it viciously into the constantly ringing telephone at his desk. “I quit,” he announces to the startled people around him, and he storms out the door without a second glance back. No doubt he’ll find himself another job he hates.

He kicks at the sidewalk dejectedly, reminding himself to call Charlie in the morning and ask her to put his ad in the paper. Also to not get his hopes up over dangerously beautiful strangers.

This, of course, is when shit gets weird.

Paper airplanes aren’t supposed to come back to you. They’re not supposed to plaster themselves all along your body and push you across oncoming traffic. That’s - that’s insane.

Except that’s exactly what happens to Sam, and he’s six foot, four, he should be able to fight back paper,  _what is happening._

"What the hell," he growls when the little buggers stop their pushing. "The train station, are you - You could’ve taken me home, you stupid fu - Oh."

Sam stares like a dumbass. This seems to be the theme of the day, but you can’t really blame him. Standing but a few feet away, clutching a slightly wrinkled paper airplane, is a man with the bluest blue eyes to ever blue. Sam’s Adonis.

The guy blinks and tilts his head again, and the softest little smile catches his lips. It’s as if he doesn’t smile very often, yet when faced with Sam, he can’t help himself.

Later, they’ll learn each other’s names and handshakes and embraces. The way Cas (because when Dean picks a nickname, it sticks worse than glue) likes his coffee black and doesn’t understand that reference. The way Sam eats his waffles with syrup poured carefully into each square. The way they kiss, the way they breathe. On the wall of a house they’ll own years from now - in an apartment they’ll own in a few months - sits a single, framed paper airplane, wrinkled, the corners turned upward into a smile.


End file.
